


Pop.

by tara_duchess_of_nil



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Balloons, Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:37:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tara_duchess_of_nil/pseuds/tara_duchess_of_nil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A couple of leftover party balloon provide Thomas with some much-needed relief. Nothing deep, nothing romantic. Just a fetish I didn't realize existed until recently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 is dedicated to my dear Ames aka dreamhusband-thewarlock and sodiumbisulfite who enjoys the filthiest of filth just a hair more than I do. Thank you for everything.<3<3<3 xxxxx

Thomas picked up the smashed piece of cake with a serviette from the centerpiece and gave it a look of sheer distain. _Naughty children_ … he thought. _Doesn’t matter if they were born with bloody silver spoons in their mouths … just like puppies._

He knew who the culprit was, the 4-year-old third son of a certain duke, with unruly brown curly hair and a small scowl. He had arrived with a new nanny in tow who seemed to have been rung out by the child like a dirty dishrag. The boy had stared at Thomas with deep brown eyes that the man found both comforting and chilling.

 _Although I love puppies_ , Thomas mused as he surreptitiously stuck a finger smeared with pink buttercream into his mouth. M _mmmmmm jesus that’s sublime. Wasted on children though._

Thomas took another delicious swipe. _Puppies ... no thumbs to grab handfuls of food, much more companionable and tolerable. Yes._

He sighed as he put the cake into the bin. Miss Sybbie’s birthday party had been a (cake) smashing success and all that was left were sticky bits and bobs for Mr. Molesley to complain about and two large pink balloons tied with white ribbon to the bannisters on either side of the grand staircase.

A pair of scissors in hand, Thomas went into the hall and gathered the strings together and snipped them loose from the bannister, then glanced up and sighed again, knowing that they should be popped so as to not take up much room in the bin. And Miss Sybbie’s room was already festooned with pink balloons tied to every conceivable surface that these two stragglers wouldn’t be missed. He clutched the strings in one fist near to where they were attached to the balloons and started toward the front door, thinking that the forthcoming extremely loud popping noise would be less disturbing outside.

As Thomas walked, one of the balloons bobbed lightly against his cheek. Its cool, smooth surface made an appealing scratching sound as it moved across his slight stubble. He turned to poke his nose at the balloon and found himself inhaling the strong scent of rubber, much like the kind that was molded into the washers his father had used in his clocks. (Thomas had picked one up off of the shop floor one day and sniffed it out of curiosity; deciding he liked the smell, he tucked it away in his pocket and hid it in a dresser drawer in his room and brought it out on occasion for a slight yet utterly appealing head rush.)

Thomas stopped just as he reached the door and stared at the balloon for a moment. It was a slightly peachy pink. _Like skin_ , he thought, almost disgusted at the comparison yet fascinated at the same time. He inhaled the intoxicating scent again and slowly pressed his lips against the rubber, reveling in the suppleness. He opened his mouth slightly and touched the balloon with the tip of his tongue and then …

“Ah, there you are Mr Barrow …” Mr Carson bellowed, his voice filling the room like a fast-moving fog.

Thomas jumped and turned, and out of habit of being caught in the act of somewhat sketchy behavior, he tried in vain to hide the rather large balloons behind his back.

“I trust that the clean up is almost complete?”

“Yes, Mr Carson.”

“Very well.” Mr Carson glanced around Thomas’ back at the balloons, raised an eyebrow and gave him a slightly withering glance and opened his mouth to speak but instead chose to keep walking.

Thomas managed to grimace in his direction as the balloons bumped rather pleasantly against his back. _They’re staying_ , he thought. _Might be handy … for something._

\--------------------

Thomas went downstairs and entered the servants hall, hoping that everyone was else busying themselves with their assigned tasks. Anna was sipping a cup of tea while Mr Bates was sat at the table sewing a button back onto a glove. He looked up from his work and narrowed his eyes at Thomas, who cursed silently at the man’s knack for being everywhere he didn’t want him to be.

“Throwing your own party, Mr Barrow?” Mr Bates said with a hint of both amusement and derision. “Wouldn’t the kiddies let you join theirs?”

Thomas’ nostrils flared and he felt his blood start to boil.

“No Mr Bates, as a matter of fact I’m saving these to … to take them after dinner to the gardener’s for his … uh … daughter,” he said with a with a slight smirk, right pleased at himself for coming up with such an utterly plausible lie.

“Oh you mean Emma? Why that’s such a … lovely … thing for you to do?” Mr Bates said and then chuckled a bit at the idea of Thomas being remotely charitable.

"I’m very glad to hear you’re doing something nice for her,” Anna said. “Mrs Patmore told me that Emma had fallen quite ill.” She shook her head slowly and clucked, “Poor little mite.”

“Yes, well, I’m off then,” Thomas said a bit too cheerfully, and turned to go up the stairs but instead nearly bumped into Mr. Molesley who was wiping icing from his cheek with a towel.

“Well, what’s this then?” the footman said amicably, eyeing the two balloons.

“Nothing,” Thomas snapped and hurried up the stairs. Mr Molesley walked over to the table and sat down wearily across from Anna and sighed.

“Blimey for him, that’s a good mood,” Molesley said as he rubbed the top of his head, a habit he had acquired after reading that “scalp stimulation” could regrow hair.

Anna smiled as Mr Bates chuckled under his breath. He returned to his sewing and, without looking at Mr Molesley, said in a low tone, “He’s going to take those balloons over to the gardener’s cottage for his daughter Emma.”

“Who? Mr Miller? He hasn’t got a daughter named Emma! Or any daughters at all!” Mr Molesely shook his head as if trying to unstick his thoughts free like the flakes sitting at the bottom of a snowglobe.

Anna and Mr Bates exchanged glances, and the valet replied, “Exactly.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and two balloons. Alone in his room.

By the time most of the servants had retired upstairs for the night, the two balloons Thomas had squirreled away in his room had lost a bit of their airborne quality and were silently floating around the room, closer to the floor on the breeze from the cracked window.

Thomas had shut his door and watched them for a minute as they slowly dipped and rose with each soft gust of air. His heart was pounding in his chest—he didn’t exactly know why however—and he proceeded to undress, one balloon making him gasp at the feather-soft swish it made when it bumped against his back, like a mischievous lover.

He stood in the middle of the room clad only in his white pants, his arms stiffly at his sides, his fists clenching and unclenching. He stopped and removed his glove, then threw it onto the dresser and closed the window to keep out the cooler night air.

The balloons had settled in the darkest corner of the room like a creature trying to make itself as small as possible. Thomas sat on the bed and looked at them. Their color in the dim light had changed from a rosy pink to a golden tan. He smirked to himself as the briefest of ridiculous thoughts crossed his mind: when side by side, the balloons looked almost like a smooth, pert arse.

Thomas’ smirk quickly turned to a grimace; he felt his cock twitch at the utterly ludicrous comparison. He snorted and imagined for a just a millisecond what his prick would feel like against the smooth, soft surface of the balloons. He quickly dismissed the idea, turned off the lamp and lay down with a sigh onto his bed, then rolled onto his side.

He could see them in the moonlight, waiting for him. Teasing him. Seducing him.

The only sound he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears and he fruitlessly attempted to tamp down his growing erection with his thigh.

They were there. He was here.

Soon he, was there.

Thomas delicately plucked the balloons’ strings with one hand. With the other, he traced their curves with the lightest of touches, relishing in the sensation of them against his chest, the friction of them rubbing against his chest hair making a pleasant scratching sound.

He let one go and began to slowly run the other around his nipples, which quickly grew hard under the tantalizing circles. It felt so bloody good that he had to brace his back against the wall to catch himself when it suddenly seemed the room was in danger of endlessly spinning. Somehow, he managed to shimmy out of his pants and kicked them across the floor.

Thomas put both hands on either side of the balloon, like he was gently grasping a lover’s head.

 _Ahhh, Jimmy_ , Thomas thought, and groaned at the memory of him. His warmth, his scent, his skin—everything about him sang clear notes of lust and love to Thomas, the tune still annoyingly stuck in his head even months after Jimmy’s hasty departure. Thomas slowly ran the balloon downwards from his now-heaving chest to his belly and then to his obscenely hard cock. Thomas looked down, desperately trying to picture Jimmy’s blond head between his hands, and softly began to pump his hips against the balloon.

But the edge of his foreskin kept stuttering across the surface, the precome dripping from the head offering little in the quest to slide rhythmically and smoothly against the soft rubber.

Thomas abruptly dropped the balloon and crossed the room to his dresser. He frantically began to paw through the top drawer on a search for something … anything … to help heighten the embarrassing pleasure he was craving like a hungry beast.  
He found his tin of pomade; he had switched to Jimmy’s cheaper brand after the footman left, just one of his many attempts to grasp at and hold onto anything that would remind him of his golden boy. He took a generous dollop, the scent of lavender and peppermint filling his nostrils, and spread it along the length of his cock. _That’ll have to do_ , he thought.

Thomas grabbed the balloon and went back to his place against the wall and resumed his gentle thrusting against the rubber, his cock sliding deliciously up and down the curved surface. He leaned his head back in ecstasy.

“Ah, oh Christ … Jimmy,” Thomas mouthed as he began to move faster. “Always. Always. Always, you.”

His greasy hands slipped and he lost his hold on the balloon, which drifted away dejectedly. He suddenly remembered its companion waiting in the dark corner of his room, and his lips curved into a smile at the precise moment he had a very, very wicked idea.

Thomas wiped his fingers on the coverlet on the bed and took a balloon in each hand. He pressed them together in a poor attempt to replicate the smooth masterpiece he thought Jimmy’s arse would surely be, the thought of which had sustained him through many long, lonely nights (and a few mornings … and afternoons, too).

He held the balloons waist-high against the wall and clumsily pushed his cock in between them with a long moan, bracing himself as much as possible on the balloons as he could without popping them. (His face was dripping with sweat at the effort to hold himself.) He swore if his wished hard enough, he could almost feel Jimmy’s thick, tight, wet heat swallowing his cock whole.

Thomas began to thrust, his eyes squeezed shut, images of Jimmy flooding his mind.

_Jimmy smoking. Jimmy sweating. Jimmy flexing. Jimmy sighing._

“Anything … everything for you,” Thomas whispered and hiccuped a slight sob.

_Jimmy throwing cards one by one on the table, slapping them down again and again and again and again._

“Don’t stop,” Thomas grunted, his movements increasing in their franticness, his hands oily and sweaty, trying to find some purchase on the balloons.

_Jimmy trembling. Jimmy moaning. Jimmy clenching._

_Jimmy milking and milking and milking him dry._

“Oh God … fuck!!!!” Thomas cried out …

**_POP_ **

Thomas came in great bursts and fell against the wall with a dull thud. The remaining balloon skidded away from his grip. He slid slowly to the floor crying.

There was a sudden flurry of activity in the hall and then a pounding on the door.

“Mr Barrow? Is everything alright in there?”

The thin voice of Mr Molesley barely penetrated the wood.

“Y-yes. I’m … I’m … fine,” Thomas stuttered, making a weak attempt at feigning calmness and pleasantness while trying to catch his breath. He slid the back of his hand across his nose.

"Are you certain? I heard a such a … such a dreadful noise like a gunshot …”

“I … I just had a bad dream. Fell out of bed.”

“Oh.”

(Mr Molesley almost sounded crestfallen that no horrible accident had happened.)

“Well, if you’re quite sure I could—“

Thomas cleared his throat and said firmly, “I appreciate your concern, Mr Molesley. I can assure you that I have come to no harm. Goodnight.”

“Alright then.” Mr Molesley sighed. “Goodnight.”

Thomas sat completely still as he heard him shuffle back to his room and close his door.

He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed heavily, and then rose with a groan to fetch a towel to wipe the stickiness left on his limp cock and the wall.

Once he was finished, he sat once again on his bed and looked at the sole balloon. He picked it up gingerly and rubbed it against his stubble in slow circles.

He tucked it under his arm, kissed it softly and sighed. _That’ll have to do_ , he thought sadly.

“Goodnight, my love.”


End file.
